My life was saved by many fighting for justice reform. I want to save the lives of other prisoners who are nonviolent but still incarcerated.

A year ago, I was sitting in a federal prison in Alabama as a nonviolent offender, hoping that my prayers for mercy from a life sentence would be heard.

This weekend, I will speak at a conference in Palm Springs, California, organized by the Seminar Network. Founded by Charles Koch, the group of philanthropists works to remove barriers preventing people from realizing their full potential.

How was my transition from prisoner to inspirational speaker possible?

I owe a debt of gratitude to President Donald Trump, whose clemency led to my release from prison in June after I had served 21 years separated from my family and loved ones. And I am also thankful for people like Kim Kardashian West, Jared Kushner, Mark Holden of Koch Industries, Brittany Barnett, co-founder of the Buried Alive Project, and many others who advocated on my behalf.

Alice Marie Johnson smiles during an interview at her lawyer's office. President Trump commuted Johnson's life sentence after she served 21 years in prison for a first-time drug offense.(Photo: Mark Weber/The Commercial Appeal-USA TODAY)

I am thankful for the second chance I was given. But I know that there are many other incarcerated people who also deserve a second chance.

I want to use my freedom to advocate on their behalf.

Justice is needed, but so is mercy

One of the most important things I learned while I was in prison is that justice has to be tempered with mercy. My story of incarceration is not unique.

The events that led up to my trial and life sentence make me no different from anyone else I mentored and sat beside during my confinement — mothers, grandmothers, sisters and daughters whose stories have yet to take the fortunate turn that mine did.

I was married at the age of 15 — my husband was only two years older than me. It was the 1970s.

The marriage didn't last, and five children and a couple of decades later, I was out of a job (I had been a manager at FedEx) and out of money with no financial support.

My home was facing possible foreclosure when someone informed me about an opportunity to make money by relaying phone messages.

My federal sentence without the possibility of parole made me one of those statistics, and I will be the first to say that I am not proud of what I did.

My first day in federal prison was the roughest. I was shipped from my hometown of Memphis to a women's facility more than 1,500 miles away in California. I was there for a year and never saw my children before I moved to a facility in Texas. My youngest child was 17. All but one of my grandchildren were born while I was incarcerated.

But I decided to use my time in prison productively.

I drew closer to God and became an ordained minister. As a mentor, I had the chance to hear dozens of stories from other women, many of whom were also serving time for nonviolent crimes. They, like myself, posed no threat to public safety and were eager for a second chance.

They used their time in prison to continue their education. They worked on résumés and prepared for job interviews.

I wrote and produced faith-based plays. And many of the women I served with took on starring roles.

I told my story of incarceration to the outside world through a video that was broadcast on the news site mic.com. That decision changed my life.

I had never heard of Kardashian West (I was in my 60s and had been in prison since the late 1990s) until my family told me that the reality TV star saw my video and pushed it out through a tweet that went viral.

Prison staff wrote letters on my behalf about the positive work I had been doing while incarcerated. And in that sense, I was very much like thousands of women caught in a justice system that overincarcerates. Many of the women I served with sincerely want to make amends, and they have the ability to become productive, law-abiding members of their communities.

National campaigns are helping Americans realize that there is a face and a story behind every statistic.

Businesses are taking notice and making changes by hiring people with criminal histories. Some are “banning the box,” or removing questions surrounding criminal records from job applications.

Great things are possible when people put their differences aside and come together to do what’s right for others, including those who need a second chance.

When I get to Palm Springs, I'll tell my story. But I'll also talk about the mercy that's needed for others throughout the criminal justice system.

Alice Marie Johnson is a grandmother who was granted clemency by President Donald Trump after serving two decades in federal prison.